Accident
by Reylaa
Summary: She always sits at that table in the corner, eating alone. AU - LJ.


**Summary:** She always sits at that table in the corner, eating alone. AU - LJ.

**Author's Notes:** Just a random idea I had while sitting in TGIF's, and I saw this woman sitting in a booth by herself. I imagined what would happen if someone she knew walked up to her - and this only _proves_ that I'm totally psychic - and someone did! She squealed and everything. (Granted, she may have just been glad that her dinner date didn't ditch, but...) Anyways, review please, and tell me what you think :)

* * *

><p><em>Accident<em>

* * *

><p>"Can I sit down?"<p>

She glances up at the person who's spoken - _male, definitely_ - and muses that he must be some sort of daring soul. It's an unspoken rule here: _No one talks to the girl in the corner._

That's all she was, in the grand scheme of things - a girl with long red curls and almond eyes, who always wore a blue-and-white letter jacket over her work clothes, and could be found every night in the same pub, in the same ring booth, sipping at a beer and surveying her surroundings from under long eyelashes.

She smiles at him - that one gesture is filled with so much ice and simpering irritation - and sets down her beer. Absently, she draws one manicured red nail across the rim of the cup. "I'm waiting for someone."

The man - or boy - laughs at her. He has a harsh, barking laugh that's so familiar, and she blinks, dazed. The lights are low and they splay everywhere, making the tabletops seem golden and setting her vibrant hair on fire, but she can't see his face. He wears jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, with the hood pulled up.

"You're not waiting for anyone," he accuses, and she stiffens. The tone in his voice, which is airy and defiant, makes her uneasy. He's not guessing - he _knows_. He knows that she's alone. "If you are, no one ever comes."

_Ever_. He knows that she comes here every day. She frowns at him, attempting to feign nonchalance, shadowing her eyes from his gaze. Her eyes were always the key - one look and you'd know exactly what she was feeling. "I'd appreciate it if you left, sir."

He snorts. "'Sir' - right, that's a new one." Against her wishes, he slides into the empty seat across from her, and his legs press against hers under the table. "You could use some company, sweetheart."

Ice crawls up her body, clawing around her heart. Her insides are screaming, _"Get the hell away from me!"_ but on the outside, she manages to give him a bitter smile. It doesn't reach her eyes, and she's sure that it looks more like a snarl. "Who are you?"

"Tsk, tsk," he reprimands, swiping her beer from her and taking a long swig. "No manners. I know you, isn't that enough?"

"You've been watching me."

The fabric of his sweatshirt ruffles as he leans his head to the side, and she can make out the bare definition of his face - a chiseled, strong jaw, a slight smirk, and big eyes, though she can't tell what color. "Not exactly." He sips again from her beer, and she resists the urge to glare. "But I do know you."

"_Do_ tell," she drawls, figuring that he probably just wants to scare her. No one that would be caught _dead_ in this place knows anything about her, she's sure of it. She flashes him a dazzling white smile that rendered countless men before him helpless. His grin - or at least, what she can see of it - becomes more pronounced.

"You're rich," he points out, and she rolls her eyes. That much is obvious. "But you don't like it."

"Why _else_ would I drag myself here every day?" she snaps, nonplussed. "You're not impressive."

He wags a finger at her. His fingernails are grubby and chewed on, and she holds back a fond smile, remembering the last person she knew with that particular habit. It's been a while since she last saw him, and she doesn't like dwelling on the past. "Temper, temper, doll." After thinking a moment, he says, "Your favorite color is the color of your eyes."

She blushes. "No, it's not." It hasn't been for a while. She _used_ to favor the color of her eyes, but then came a time when she realized that it wasn't so important, and promptly changed her favorite color.

"Then," he declares, "it's hazel."

She makes an odd sound in the back of her throat. "Lucky guess."

He shrugs. "I know your name, among other things, as well."

"So?"

"Does Lily Potter ring a bell, sweetheart?" Her heart skips a beat, then begins to pound against her ribs, like an animal trapped inside of a cage. "Or have you reverted back to Lily Evans? Enlighten me, darling."

"I - "

"Oh, no, no. I'm having too much fun here. Let me see... Oh, yes. You went to a co-ed school because you got yourself thrown out of your all-girls private school. You were dead set on being a bad girl. Smokes, drinks, sex, parties - the lot."

She's entranced now, against her better judgement, because that stranger is making everything about her seem so simple when it's _not_ and she wonders how long until he mentions -

"And then you fell in love."

- _that_.

Leaning towards him, she stares at his lips, because that's the only part of him she can see, and nods slowly. "Go on."

"He liked you first. Spent a long time convincing you that you felt the same way. Eventually you gave in - you went on dates, you snuck around... Once he got you completely wasted, but let's not talk about that."

Her stomach clenches painfully, and stars float in her vision. She can hear voices, distant voices, ones that she worked so hard to bury.

_"I'm James. James Potter."_

_"You're actually kind of pretty."_

_"Hey, Lil!"_

_"James and Li-ily, sittin' in a tree - "_

_"So - marry me, then?"_

He's just staring at her, and she can tell from his fingertips, which are drumming across the table top in a strange beat, that he's waiting for her to say something.

Finally, she spits out, "How - _the hell_ - do you know all this?"

That infernal smile of his stretches, to the point where she thinks it'll break his face. He leans in close - their noses are almost touching. "I know all of that, and more." He rubs a calloused thumb across her cheek and tilts her chin up. His eyes are gray, like storm clouds. "I also know," he sits back and observes his thumb with little interest, "that you hate wearing makeup." He raises an eyebrow at her, and she blushes. So _what_ if she had put on some coverup that morning?

"I've got it," she says, leaning back in the same fashion. "You're a psycho-stalker that wants to torture me before brutally murdering me and leaving me to rot in a back alley."

"Close, doll, but not quite." Then he laughs - his familiar, bark of a laugh - and her stomach clenches again. Gray eyes, that laugh... He pushes the hood from his head and grins at her. "Can't recognize me?"

Dark hair reaching to his chin, the faintest trace of stubble, big soul-bearing eyes, lopsided grin - it's all there. Her heart constricts and climbs into her throat, until finally she feels the sting of salty tears in her eyes and gasps out, _"Sirius."_

"In the flesh." He reaches over the tabletop and pulls her small hand into his, just holding it there. "How are you?"

Silence. Then: "You complete _bastard_." But a laugh chokes her words on the way out, and it's all she can do not to jump up and hug him. "How can you just show up here after all these years and _scare the fuck out of me _and say, 'How are you'?"

"You weren't exactly trying to find me, either."

"I kept in _touch_," she states. "I wrote you. I waited for your letters, but _no_. I even called, once or twice, but - y'know - my parents could track that phone."

He shrugs, but doesn't let go of her hand. She's glad for the gesture. "I've been... around. The accident... well, it hit pretty hard."

"It's better to grieve in a group."

"But, see, I did some research - and once I was done... Well, I came to find you."

She smiles and squeezes his hand, marveling at how the feel of his palm pressed against hers hasn't changed in all these years. "You found me. What is it?"

"Look, Lil - the accident wasn't really, you know, an accident."

It takes a few moments for his words to really reach her. She scoots forward, closer to him, and murmurs, "What d'you mean?"

"It was a hit-and-run, Lily. And I'll be damned if it wasn't your parents that planned it."

At once, Lily yanks her hand away and clenches it into a fist. "You can't just accuse them of something like that, Sirius, they - "

"They _hated_ James, Lily," Sirius insists, reaching for her hand again. She places it under the table. "They wanted him away from you, and well, the threats didn't stop when the two of you... ah, how to say - _got hitched_."

"Sirius - "

"_Lily_. Listen to reason, okay? Who hated James? Your parents. Who wanted him away from you? Your parents. Who had influence on almost _everyone_ in town? Your parents." Softer, he adds, "Who killed James?"

"My - my - " When she does work up the courage to say it, it's a deadly whisper. _"My parents."_

The words coil around her like a snake, making her heart thump faster and her breaths shallow, and suddenly the room's spinning _faster and faster_, lights blending into each other, the music warped and distant, and suddenly she feels so very alone, ice building in her soul -

She stands abruptly. "I need to go now. It's been - it's been nice talking to you." With that, she pushes her way out of the restaurant, not bothering to pay for the beer, and she isn't completely surprised when he follows her outside.

In a flash, he has her arm pinned to her side, with one of his hands in a firm grip on her shoulder. "I can't let you drive in this condition," he explains. "Not when you're acting like you're drunk. You can come with me. You still live in that mansion, right?" He takes her silence as an affirmation.

And so he leads her away - she's still too far-away to protest - with his hand wrapped around hers. For a split second, she expects to see a shiny black motorbike - _the motorbike that died alongside her husband_ - but instead Sirius loads her into a slick SUV. He drives with one hand, because she has the other one in a death grip.

Finally, she murmurs, "What did you do?"

He glances over at her for a brief second. "What do you mean?"

"When you - when you found out about... about what really happened to - to James. What did you do?"

Now he frowns, which is an expression that doesn't suit him at all. "I couldn't really _do_ anything, could I?" His lips curve into a grimace. "I came to find you."

"That's not the Sirius I know."

"Well, James wouldn't have wanted me to take revenge on anyone."

Lily sighs then, and leans her head against the frigid glass of the window. "Do you think he's watching us? From - from wherever he is?"

"You _know_ I don't believe in that sort of thing."

She gives him a pointed look. He makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat.

"Remember what I said to you that one time, Sirius?"

A slight smile tugs at his lips, but the brooding expression remains in his eyes. "'The ones who love us never really leave us, you can always find them - "

" - in here," she finishes, and places a hand over her heart.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> Good? Bad? Ugly? Advice on how to improve would really help :)


End file.
